


Everything I Need

by WhiskyDaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Cheating, F/M, Guilt, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Office Sex, One Night Stands, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Smut, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskyDaze/pseuds/WhiskyDaze
Summary: “If you truly loved him, you wouldn’t have slept with me two months ago.”And that was it. Right there. The source of all her guilt. Her eyes welled with sabotaging tears. “He’s my husband Malfoy. I love my husband!”“You only say that out of habit.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 136





	Everything I Need

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic posted on AO3. This oneshot was originally posted on FF.net over Christmas but I decided to branch out here as well. Hope you enjoy, any feedback is welcome :)

# Everything I Need

With the train of her dress clasped in one hand and a glass of Firewhisky in the other, Hermione moved swiftly and quietly down the darkened corridor. While Ginny had insisted the burgundy silk looked gorgeous on her, Hermione couldn’t think of any garment more irritating to wear. Ronald had spent a great portion of the evening accidentally stepping on the skirt and on occasion, had splashed her with his drink when he was exuberantly telling a war story to some Ministry buffoon.

As it stood, her dress now resembled a maroon puddle.

Hermione found an elegant door about four doors down from where she came. Letting down her dress, she grasped the handle and upon opening, found what appeared to be a Victorian drawing room. She and her Firewhisky swirled into the room and closed the door, pulling out the wand tucked into her sleeve and cast the incantations to both lock and silence the room.

Hermione finally allowed herself to exhale and surveyed the drawing room. She couldn’t remember whose manor she was in. She’d attended at least a hundred of these charity galas and banquets since the end of the war, many held by some pureblood family determined to be seen doing their part in the rebuild of wizarding society. After the first ten galas however, they all seemed to merge together, the same false niceties and platitudes she always heard from people she didn’t know but who certainly knew _her._ She would have stopped attending these parties long ago if Shacklebolt didn’t assert that at least one member of the trio attends these parties to “encourage donations – after all the war had been very expensive.”

Harry detested these parties, if not more so. He was The Chosen One after all and hated being put on display like a performing monkey. He actually didn’t attend many of these shindigs anymore unless it was Ministry-mandated. Thankfully there was always one member of the trio willing to go.

Ronald LOVED going to the parties. He always insisted it was because of the good food and good music and good company. And granted, the food and music usually were good since many of the pureblood wives did these kind of functions for a living.

But the company… oh the _company._ So many of these wealthy guests were nowhere to be seen during the war, preferring to hide in their villas in Cannes or Tuscany. And Hermione couldn’t fault them for that, truly she couldn’t. It was a dangerous time and these people had families and loved ones they wanted to protect. However, it was at these banquets that these people would latch on like flies, desperate to hear the stories and claim that they too witnessed them first.

“Oh my son’s Crup-walker witnessed your triumph at the Battle of Hogwarts! Truly stupendous he says, said it was like seeing the birth of a new deity…”

Utter rubbish, all of it.

Ronald thrived on it however. Constantly overlooked for Harry and his other siblings, he really enjoyed retelling these stories, reliving his former glory and having complete strangers hang onto his every word.

So Ron accepted invitations to all these parties and as his dutiful wife, Hermione also attended by default.

Hermione had declined on occasion. After all, she was a fiercely independent woman with her own social calendar, but the Prophet always ran some ridiculous “expose” surrounding their “separation” at said gala and in the end, it wasn’t always worth the trouble it caused.

So Hermione went. Wearing beautiful dresses, eating beautiful food and talking to beautiful people. And Hermione felt _suffocated._

She wandered further into the drawing room and looked around. It was dark in the room, the only light coming through the windows from the garden. The furniture all appeared to be well over a hundred years old, with two floral chaise-lounges and matching armchairs surrounding a dark wood coffee table. Atop the table sat an equally-floral china tea set. Clearly for display, not for actual drinking of tea.

Hermione suppressed the urge to fling the teapot against the wall.

Wand still in her hand, she started to Scourgify the bottom of her dress. Most of the stains came out apart from a particularly persistent smudge that Hermione thought was avocado from one of the hors d'oeuvres. Unsure quite how to get the green stuff out of silk, she considered it a lost cause. Tucking her wand away and taking another gulp of her Firewhisky, Hermione decided to go peer out the window.

Whoever owned this house had beautiful grounds. It seemed to span for acres, with luscious grass, oddly-shaped shrubbery and umpteen flowerbeds that seemed to surround several water fountains of varying heights. The nearby trees also seemed to be encased in fairy lights that lit up the beautiful garden against the night sky. It was enchanting, if a bit over-the-top.

Hermione took another sip of her drink and enjoyed her solitude. She had made her excuses to her nearest audience back in the banquet hall, feigning a need to go to the ladies. She doubted Ron had noticed.

She was sure she loved Ron. She was sure of it. They just had problems everyone had after so many years of marriage. He was very involved in the Auror department along with Harry and she was the department head of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They were very busy. And in their off-time, few and far between, Ron would prefer to play Quidditch with the other Weasleys and Hermione preferred to do anything else. If anything, these galas were some of the few occasions Hermione and Ron spent any time together.

To be honest, the utter indifference they seemed to hold for each other was stifling.

She delighted in the way the Firewhisky burned down her throat. Ron didn’t always approve of her having Firewhisky, preferring her to enjoy a Gillywater tipple but Hermione had told him exactly where to go for that helpful little tidbit. 

She heard movement at the door however and her stomach dropped. She tried to ignore the sounds in vain hope but the door quietly opened and shut again.

“Really Granger? I expected a locking spell more advanced than Colloportus from you…”

_Oh fuck, anyone but him…_

“I apologise for being a disappointment. And it’s Weasley, Malfoy.” Hermione was determined not to look at him, preferring to focus on a piece of topiary that she couldn’t _quite_ figure out what creature it was supposed to be. 

“I prefer calling you Granger, old habits and all that.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t call me anything.”

Hermione could hear him slowly making his way across the room and it was tortuous. His ego was practically echoing through each lazy step against the hardwood floor. She was feeling a little light-headed, probably from the alcohol, and she leaned into the thick periwinkle curtain.

“Someone’s a bit grumpy. Why are you hiding away in here?”

He was now visible in the corner of her eye. He appeared to be wearing a dark grey three-piece with a white shirt and Hermione could see the silver chain of a pocket watch appearing from his waistcoat into his jacket pocket.

“Just trying to get some peace. Now please… leave me alone.”

Malfoy moved from window and for a moment, Hermione thought he was doing what she asked. However, he was actually shifting towards the metal cart other the side of the room and she could hear the clinking of bottles.

“Let’s see if the Bulstrodes have anything decent on this cart other than the swill they’re serving out there… aha!” He pulled a bottle out of the rack.

“This will do. Want a drink? That stuff is only good for getting sufficiently drunk quickly.”

“That was my intent.” Hermione knocked back the rest of the drink in one gulp. Malfoy moved into her vision again and raised one eyebrow.

“Not very ‘brightest witch’ of you, at a party full of prying eyes and loose mouths” He unstoppered his bottle of amber liquid and started to pour in his glass.

Hermione gazed into her empty glass and against her better judgement, held it out to Malfoy. He smirked and started to fill it. “Well I haven’t been terribly bright lately. Besides, it’s why I came into this room. For peace, solitude and to get sufficiently drunk, as you put it.”

The look he was giving her was indescribable. His gaze was piercing and the smirk he held moments before had faded from his face. Hermione felt a bit uneasy under his stare and tried to ignore it. She turned her attention back to the gardens and the night sky.

The silence between them though, was deafening. She tried desperately to focus on the stupid shrubbery again when she felt the light brushing of fingertips against her wrist.

“Granger…” He all but whispered.

“Don’t…” Hermione tensed up and shook off his hand.

“Granger,” He uttered more sternly. “What’s bothering you? Is it…”

“I said _don’t_!” Hermione snapped and turned to face him. “Just leave me be. I’d rather have another round with Bellatrix Lestrange than have this conversation with you at all.”

His eyes darkened and he looked ferocious. “Well… I’ve never known you to be such a bitch…”

“Well that’s what happens when people don’t listen to me, when I’ve given ample instruction. And you don’t know me at all” Hermione took a swig of her fresh liquor.

Malfoy harked a harsh laugh. “Oh Granger, we both know that’s not true. In fact, I’d wager that I know you better than anyone else in that room back there. Including your husband.”

Hermione didn’t want to dignify that comment with an answer. Instead she gave a very undignified snort and took another sip. Whatever was in her glass was delicious.

“Look Granger, whatever guilt and self-loathing you’re harbouring, there’s no need to get so inebriated in such a public setting. That kind of activity is best at home…”

“Where’s your wife Malfoy?” Hermione countered suddenly. She did not want to talk about her self-loathing.

Malfoy smirked once more and raised his glass to his lips. “In Paris. Probably fucking her tennis instructor. Or her polo instructor. Whatever instructor, she takes instruction very seriously…”

Hermione snorted again. “And you’re okay with that?”

“I’ve told you before Granger. Astoria and I are married in appearances only. We got married only to satisfy our parents and have subsequently dissatisfied our parents by not producing an heir. Now we just pursue our own… interests.”

The unease Hermione felt earlier had not wavered. If anything, it had intensified. Malfoy’s gaze was… palatable, she decided. The lilt at end of his sentence sent shivers up her spine. She tightened the hold on her glass, afraid that it might slip if he kept looking at her like that. 

“Well, go and pursue your own interests Malfoy elsewhere. Just don’t involve me…” She decided to move away from the window but Malfoy suddenly grasped her arm.

“But my interests do involve you, Granger.”

Hermione’s heart stopped. She looked him straight in eye. “Please Malfoy…”

“That’s exactly what you said to me two months ago.

And there it was. The gigantic elephant in the drawing room.

She couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, it was too much. The way he looked at her was too much and she went back to looking into her glass, wondering if there was enough liquid in it for her to drown in.

“Granger, I wouldn’t stick my neck out on the line like this if I wasn’t certain you felt the same way.” 

She gasped and snapped her attention back to him. “Malfoy…”

“Granger.”

“Malfoy!” She was aghast. “You’re married! I’m married!”

“If you truly loved him, you wouldn’t have slept with me two months ago.”

And that was it. Right there. The source of all her guilt. Her eyes welled with sabotaging tears. “He’s my husband Malfoy. I _love_ my husband!”

“You only say that out of habit.”

\------

It was the 2nd May 2008. It was the Ministry’s 10th anniversary ceremony of the Battle of Hogwarts. Too much melancholy and too much Firewhisky afterwards. Ronald had irritated her to no end. Yes it was somewhat a celebration of the victory, but it was also a memorial for all the brave souls who fought and died for the wizarding world. And Ronald was slightly too celebratory for her tastes, especially for someone who lost a brother. Hermione suspected he actually suppressed his grief, preferring to focus on the happier things. Hermione wasn’t sure it was a healthy way of dealing with it and had tried to get him to talk about it at home but Ron always just brushed her off. 

Meanwhile, Hermione struggled with this anniversary every year. She was unable to reverse the memory charm she’d performed on her parents, so they stayed in Australia, with no knowledge of a daughter, of their previous life and of the magic world in any factor. And at all these stupid galas, she found she often met relatives of those who died during the final Battle. While for the most part, these relatives displayed pride in their loved ones for their part, Hermione couldn’t help but feel shame that she could not save them. Survivors guilt she believed, guilt that she wasn’t quick enough or smart enough to help defeat Voldemort before they lost their lives. And she was reminded of that fact every time she met Coralie Creevey or Terrance Brown.

So Hermione found Malfoy in a dark office next to the Maintenance department within the Ministry. She was looking for somewhere to wallow in her misery, away from everyone. It turns out Malfoy was wallowing also, albeit for different reasons. They both sat perched on a desk, had a brief competition about whose life sucked more (nobody won) and as the time approached midnight, they had shifted closer and closer to each other to the point Malfoy had his arm around Hermione’s back and she could feel his shaky breath on her bare shoulder. He was undeniably attractive, she knew this. The lanky teenager had grown into a handsome, confident man in his late twenties. He was well-groomed, well-dressed and while neither of these were attributes Hermione held much stock in, she did enjoy his wit and intelligent conversation in the few times they had to work together at the Ministry. It was a dangerous combination for the intoxicated.

“I’m not a good man, Granger. Tell me to get away from you…” He had murmured into her ear.

Throwing whatever caution she had to the wind, she placed her hand on his thigh. “Good thing I’m not a good woman Malfoy…”

It was not gentle. It was raw and it was unrestrained. Her back was laid against the desk, the occupier’s belongings sprawled across the floor. His mouth was on her, bruising her lips and she responded in equal fervour. Buttons from his shirt were now scattered, belt undone and Malfoy had yanked up her skirt to her waist. She was gripping onto him in anticipation. Pressing a pattern of kisses against her neckline, he had slid her knickers down over her knees and to her ankles. He brushed a finger against her slit and she gasped, her breath coming in short pulses as her hands skimmed over his now bare chest.

“Please Malfoy…”

She could feel him lining up to her entrance and once he was sure she was really ready, he thrust in.

“Sweet Circe Granger…” He rasped.

She clenched her eyes shut. It felt utterly foreign to have Malfoy inside her but when he began to move, Hermione realised how much she _needed_ him inside her, longing for his touch, longing for this release. She arched her back and he swept an arm underneath her, keeping a tight hold. Her hips were pounding against the desk with each thrust and Hermione could hear the in-time scraping of the desk against the wooden floor. 

“…fuck…” She moaned in between gasps and Malfoy smirked.

“Come on Granger…” He was driving into her slow and hard now, seemingly wanting to savour the feel of her wrapped around him. Or savour her building reaction. He slipped his other hand between them to entice her clit.

“Yes…Draco…”

And so her release came.

Hermione hoped to Merlin that someone had silenced the room because the sound that came from her was almost animal. Malfoy was in his element, thrusting a few more times before a final push against her flesh and he released into her.

For a few moments, neither of them moved, both trying to catch their breath. It was then that Hermione had the sudden clarity of the terrible thing she had just done.

Malfoy seemed to sense her immediate despair and hissed as he eased out of her. Hermione couldn’t say anything, didn’t know what to say. So she just lay on the desk and stared at the ceiling, covered in sweat, stickiness and overall humiliation.

Malfoy was tidying himself up and then took out his wand. He cast a contraceptive spell and then a cleaning charm over Hermione, his seed beginning to drip down her leg. Once she was clean, he leaned down and pulled her knickers back up over her knees. Once he had reached her hips, he covered her back over with the skirt, leaned over her and pressed a soft kiss against her lips.

“Don’t worry Granger. Your little indiscretion is safe with me….”

\------

The tears started to stream down her cheeks. He attempted to wipe them away, but she shook her head, away from his touch. “He’s a good man Malfoy. I don’t deserve him after what I’ve done.”

Malfoy had abandoned his glass on the windowsill and placed his hands firmly on her either side of her arms and slid them up and down in some form of comfort. “He’s a bore but you’re right, he’s a good man. And you don’t deserve him. So why don’t you do the right thing and end it with him?”

“Oh right,” She spluttered. “That wouldn’t benefit you at all.”

“Yes, I admit I may have some stake in the demise of your marriage but ask yourself this – what does the Weasel deserve more? The opportunity to carry on with his stupid life boring other people with his elaborate stories or to be stuck in a marriage where his wife doesn’t love him?”

As much as Hermione loathe to admit it, Malfoy did make sense. After _that_ night, Hermione was so wrought with shame that she declared to herself that she would be the best wife possible, the wife Ron deserved. A wife that was good and faithful. One that didn’t snap, one that didn’t roll her eyes when he did something foolish, which was often. Yes, Ron had many flaws that drove Hermione round the bend, but surely that didn’t take away from his moral character?

“We married too young.” Hermione sniffled. “I was only nineteen. I was drunk from the high of winning the war. I was so sure that the heroic boy I’d won the war with… the boy I stood beside through all that… would be the man I’d want to spend the rest of my life with. Like, we survived Voldemort together, how could we not survive this?”

“Heroic teenagers don’t always grow to be great husbands” Malfoy responded solemnly.

“Or wives…” Hermione hiccuped.

“Granger” Malfoy exasperated, gripping her tighter. “You need to forgive yourself. Yes, you did a shitty thing. We both did. But you can fix it. You just need some of that Gryffindor courage I’m sure you have buried deep inside you and break up with Weasel. You’re not just doing yourself a favour; you’re doing him one as well.”

Malfoy took the glass from her hands and sat it down next to his.

“And then what?” She breathed.

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Be with me.”

She closed her eyes, refusing the believe what he just said. He couldn’t be serious. “Draco…”

“Hermione…”

“You’re married!”

“If you say so, I’ll Floo to Paris right now and tell Astoria it’s over.”

He _definitely_ couldn’t be serious. Hermione backed out of his hold and tried to retreat, but she was in the corner of the room. His eyes were like thunder.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Malfoy. Don’t break up your marriage.”

“You heard me Granger. It’s barely even a marriage! It’s an arrangement where we show face together twice a month at public events and we sleep in separate houses the rest of the time. Me in the Manor and she in any of the Malfoy holiday homes that take her fancy at that moment. I want you Granger, and I have done for several months now.”

“ _What_?” She nearly keeled over into a burgundy silk bundle on the floor. “You… me…”

“Yes, Granger. Me and you.”

He reached out for her again but Hermione niftily ducked under his arm and into the centre of the room. Next to the fainting couches which at that moment, Hermione thought would soon be aptly named as she was feeling very faint.

“Malfoy, please stop. You don’t mean that, please stop toying with me…”

He rolled a hand through his hair and Hermione noticed he seems to be looking a little, daresay, _anxious._ Malfoys didn’t get anxious, surely. 

“Granger… Hermione, I’m not blind. I’ve been watching you for months, long before we even slept together. Watched you at work, watched you at these stupid parties. You’re a force to be reckoned with, the way you out-manoeuvre the old Ministry swines so set in their ways that they refuse to see the good you’re trying to accomplish. And against those old gargoyles, you get the job done. You’ve enraptured me.”

“So you admire my work ethic. Big whoop” Hermione wiped her face with her sleeve, trying to ignore how nice her name sounded on his tongue. “Hardly a reason to want me.”

“Not just your work ethic, you insufferable woman!” Malfoy raised his hands in exasperation. “It’s everything about you! I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind! I find myself making excuses to come to your office just to see your stupid, beautiful face…”

“Malfoy…” she warned him, feeling tears beginning to threaten again.

“Granger. I’ve want you. _You.”_ He came towards her again. “I’ve seen how you are with Weasley. It’s as plain as those tears in your eyes. You don’t love him anymore. You can barely manage being in the same room with him. Why do that to yourself when you can leave him and be with me?”

“What makes you think I want to be with you, Malfoy? We slept together _once_ and it’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made…”

If Malfoy was hurt, he didn’t show it.

“Because I know you Granger. You’d never admit while you’re married to Weasley, but you’re attracted to me. I see it every time I come into your office with a daft question about Bowtruckle rights. Your eyes light up, even if your lips are being snarky. I make you laugh, something I’ve never seen Weasley do. Yes, I know you’ve tried your best to avoid me ever since that night. I get it. I understand. But Granger, you and I have _fun,_ even in the claustrophobic Ministry. Imagine the kind of fun we can have outside the Ministry?” He grinned at that comment, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hermione however, was quite quickly incensed. “Fun? Is that all this is Malfoy?”

The grin was stripped off his face but Hermione wasn’t finished.

“Sweet Merlin, Malfoy, you ARE toying with me! You want me to end nearly a ten-year marriage so you can have fun?! I bet the only reason you’re pursuing me is because I am unavailable to you! You would get bored as soon as the chase is over then you’d go pursue _another interest!”_

The words felt like acid on her tongue. She knew deep down this wasn’t true, and Malfoy’s affronted expression spoke volumes.

“That is a downright lie, Hermione.” He sneered, “You’re only insulting me because you’re trying to push me away. You’re afraid of what you could happen. You’re afraid…”

He suddenly sauntered towards her and Hermione didn’t know whether to run away or stun him or something else entirely. In fact, she did absolutely nothing when he pulled her towards him and kissed her with furious passion.

Hermione couldn’t hold back anymore, a sea of emotion and desire erupted from her. She hooked her arms around his neck and his hands pulled her closer, chest to chest. The kiss was releasing tremors throughout her whole body, it was equal parts fierce and euphoric, the way his soft lips pressed against her own. She did want this. She wanted him. He ground her hips against hers and she gasped.

He pulled his lips away and looked at her with yearning stare. “You’re afraid of being happy with me.”

She was stunned, and he brushed a spare curl out of her eyes. “I don’t want a mistress Hermione. If you want me, I’ll go to Paris right now and end it with Astoria.”

Hermione gazed back up at him. He was comfortably tall with such handsome features and icy blond hair with at this moment, looked quite windswept.

“I don’t want to cheat on Ron either, Draco. I…”

“What, Hermione?” He whispered.

He’d been right about everything. She didn’t love Ron, not the way she should. She stayed with him because it was easy and they both deserved easy after all they had been through. But that wasn’t fair for either of them. There was no passion between them anymore and that was something Malfoy had enlightened in her. She need passion, she need fire. And Malfoy wanted to give her all that.

She couldn’t be afraid anymore. She couldn’t live with the guilt anymore.

She swallowed back her fear, determined. “I’m going to break up with Ron. Tonight. I want to…I want you, Draco.”

The relief on his face with momentous. He yanked her forward and gave her one more ferocious kiss before releasing her. He conjured a small strip of parchment and a quill with his wand and started to write something on the coffee table.

“This is a house I have on the Isle of Wight. It’s small, mostly used for storage, I don’t think Astoria even knows it’s there.” Once done writing, he passed the parchment to her.

“If once all is said and done, you need somewhere to stay, you can go there. I’ll have the house elves tidy the place up for you, just in case.”

Hermione stared at the slip. “Draco…”

“I pay the elves, don’t worry. That way of life died with my father.” He shrugged, nervously. “You don’t have to use it obviously, just in case you need it…”

“I know, Draco” She smiled reassuringly.

It was strange to see him like this, almost as if he was worried she’d change her mind. How could she have doubted his intentions. It was clear as day now. He was elated with her response, but he was definitely anxious.

“You were right Draco. I do want you. I was just afraid before. Seeing you like this…” She gestured to his stance, “…has told me everything I needed to know.”

She held out a spare hand to him and he gripped it intently. He even raised it to his face and kissed her knuckles.

“If you need anything, let me know.” 

She smirked back at him. “Don’t worry Malfoy. I think... you’re going to be everything I need.”

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! As I said before, all feedback is welcome, but please be gentle with me! Prior to this, I hadn't written any fanfiction for about 10 years, and had neeever written smut before. That was tricky!
> 
> Lots of love!


End file.
